100 Prompts for 100 Drabbles
by SexySymphonyMisses
Summary: We're trying our hand at 100 drabbles, no word limit max/min for us! Hope you guys enjoy! Rated T, just incase. NOTE: Our stories rarely link together. They're all basically one-shots.
1. Prompts

100 Prompts for 100 Drabbles

**100 Prompts for 100 Drabbles**

_We give ourselves the challenge of writing 100 Prompts for 100 Drabbles. _

_We know the following objects/words are absolutely insane, but we're going to make them work somehow! _

_Let's see what happens. We won't go in any order, but which words we use will be obvious._

_Hope you all enjoy! _

_Love ; K.C. & K.M._

Black

Happy

Candles

Snow

Blacktop

Shoes

Crazy

Rain

Storm

Sheet music

Couch

Blue

Box

T.V.

Bus

Notebook

Door

Window

Trophy

Keys

Earrings

Grass

Fence

Paint

Pain

Wind

Scoreboard

Hot Chocolate

Stands

3rd quarter

Hot dogs

Gloves

50 yard line

Socks

Front Hash

Reflection

Eagles

Band camp

Shoe polish

Dancing

Costumes

Pajamas

Hotel

Beach

Stadium

Midnight

Carwash

Confessions

Corner

Email

Cell phone

Phone number

Escape

Run

Crush

Director

Wood block

Marimba

Metronome

Santa

Sections

Spirit

Band Aid (covers practices when director can't)

Band-aid (covers wounds)

Thriller

Cruise

5 A.M.

Old Time Photo

Flip folder

Parade

Lines

Mouthpiece

Tears

Haunted House

Geek

Doughnut

Water

Gripz (those little snack things)

Cupcake

Instrument case

Subway

Diet

Flags

Sunshine

Heat

Insanity

Cheesy

Angst

Graduation

Attention

Dreams

Brownies

Tune

Pants

Wrapping Paper

Points

Tag

Love

Chase

100. with Pride


	2. Pants

NOTE: So I had a few of these in stock, so the next few will all be posted at the same time, even though they weren't necessarily written at the same time or in this order

_**NOTE:**__ So I had a few of these in stock, so the next few will all be posted at the same time, even though they weren't necessarily written at the same time or in this order. _

_Thanks! _

_MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB_

**94. Pants**

It was 6:30 on a Friday night and while everyone else in town was eating dinner before heading to Roderick's football game (Roderick being the town's only high school) Chris found herself rushing to get in uniform before the band would head out to the parking lot and make their way out to the field at 6:50.

"Lucy! Where's my hat!?" Chris yelled down the hall as she quickly roll stepped down the hall towards the band room while hastily clasping the hook on her collar.

"Hanging from your arm!" Lucy yelled back without even looking.

"What? OH." Chris looked down and saw the hat hanging from its chin strap around her elbow.

Chris made it into the band room at exactly 6:41, her shoes dingy and her hat crooked, and for whatever reason her uniform felt lose. She decided to pretend the suddenly ill-fitting uniform meant she was losing weight.

The band room was filled with bustling bodies. Drumline members were helping other drumline members suit up, the senior tuba player was helping the sophomore player get his baret just right, the saxophones were adjusting other saxophones' neck straps, and the clarinets were all huddling around each other giggling as always.

"Chris, you look like hell." Her section leader shouted.

"Thanks Nick thanks." She responded sarcastically.

Chris was used to nick now, after two years, she actually began to enjoy their little banter.

"Here, Chris." Lucy offered as she sat down and started shining Chris' shoes. "You work on that hat."

"Thanks." Chris fussed over her chin strap, one whole too big, the next too tight, etc.

Lucy got up and took the shoe shine with her. Chris stood, finally getting her hat in place and admiring her newly shined shoes. _Now_, she looked just right. And it was exactly 6:46.

Letting out a breath she fell back against her chair. Now as she looked around she saw what everyone looked like dressed, versus how the looked ½ stripped moments before. She chuckled to herself as she thought about how band totally killed everyone's modesty.

"You're looking better, Chris." Nick came back by, of course he was going to wait until the last minute to put his hat on, but somehow, he still looked more put together than you.

"Gloves?" He handed her a pair while slipping his on.

"Thanks." She nodded and slipped them on.

"What's with your pants?" Nick asked, while keeping his eyes on his gloves.

"I'm … losing weight?" She suggested.

"Ha … sorry babe, don't think that's it." He smirked at her, causing her to roll her eyes. "Here.." He grabbed her jacket and undid the snaps all in one pull, the pushed the jackets shoulders back and pulled to adjust the suspenders of her pants, then pulled her jacket over her shoulders as she buttoned the jacket back up.

"Oh, that's what it is … thanks!" Chris smiled grabbing her sax and skipping out to the parking lot.

"Yep." Nick pulled his hat on and followed a few yards behind her, smacking a couple of freshman on the back of the head, proving their hats were loose.

And the amazing part was, all of this was totally normal.


	3. Carwash

47

**47. Carwash **

_MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB_

Carwashes, the band's summer fundraiser, and the band's craziest time. In the band room things would get intense but at the fundraiser, it was all about fun … oh! And making money.

"Truth, or dare?" Cherrie asked Meg as they pressed sponges to the navy SUV in front of them.

"Truth."

"You're so boring." Cherrie rolled her eyes.

"I know." She smiled "Go on!"

"Okay, uh …"

"I got one!" Laurie threw in as she began to spray the suds from the SUV. "Meg, would you rather trip in the middle of a halftime show this season, or switch mouthpieces with Patrick?"

Cherrie pretended to choke. "Easy, I'd switch mouthpieces." The other two girls gagged, pushing Meg to explain herself. "What? Tripping would mean I didn't have full control, it would show a lack in ability! I'd rather just switch mouth pieces any day!"

"Oh Meg …" Laurie laughed.

_MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB_

"Okay, Truth or Dare dude…?"

"Dare, duh." Seely replied as he dunked him sponge into the suds.

"Okay, go over there and give Meg's back side a nice smack with the sponge."

Peter, Steven and Erick let out laughs.

"Fine. I'll do it." Seely agreed to Peter's dare.

"Oh! But before you go Seel…Hey, Peter. When you say back side do you mean her back or … uh-hu?" Steven asked.

"You mean her ass, stupid?" Erick pointed out.

"Yeah, that's what I mean … now go over there Seel." Peter ordered.

"Alright!" Seely walked over, sponge in hand.

_MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB-:-MB-:- MB-:-MB_

The navy SUV was gone now and replaced with a turquoise Toyota.

"Truth or dare?" Laurie asked.

"Ugh, is it really back to me already?" Meg whined, grabbing a rag to dry the car's windshield.

"It is. Now truth or dare?" Cherrie asked grinning from ear to ear, she really loved this game far too much.

"Ugh. Dare I guess..."

"Okay how about …."

"Hi Seely!" Laurie broke in.

"Hey. How you ladies doing?" He asked.

Meg looked over at Seely and saw that he had something on his mind. She could always see it in his eyes, even when other people couldn't. But Meg didn't let that stay on her mind too long, and she went back to drying the windshield.

"So…what's up Meg?" He asked.

"Not much." Meg grunted slightly, if only she were two inches taller maybe she could actually reach the windshield.

"I see. Need a little help there?"

"Not really …."

"Oh, okay. Sure …" Seely said sarcastically. "Well, good luck drying the sun roof too, then, short-stuff!" Seely smirked and gave her back side a hearty smack with the sponge.

Meg turned around with a shocked gaping mouth and wide eyes. She turned bright red with anger, for all of three seconds before she and Cherrie went after Seely and the guys with the spray hose.

Oh the carwashes.


	4. Bandaid

This is just a short fic I threw together trying to prove that there are sexy band directors (or at least assistants) out there, and that some of them do have lives outside of band

This is just a short fic I threw together trying to prove that there are sexy band directors (or at least assistants) out there, and that some of them do have lives outside of band. Haha, just a short silly little fic for pure entertainment.

--

**64. Band-Aid / Bandage **

It was one in the afternoon, it was hot, and it was humid … and it was band camp. Everyone was hot and thirsty and quite frankly, ready for lunch. It was the 400th time running set 32, but it just wasn't working.

"The sooner you get done with this set, the sooner we'll get to lunch." Mr. George Ryan reminded the exhausted band. You'd think a seasoned band like Mr. Ryan's wouldn't fall for his hallow words, but they did. They did the set the best they could for 15 more minutes and finally earned lunch.

The marchers let out a sigh as they walked off the field chatting with their friends as they made their way to the dining hall.

"Come on Mercedes! We don't want to be the last for lunch, do we?" Jenna and Kit asked their trombone playing best friend.

"I have to get my stuff together, you guys go on ahead." Mercedes smiled. The freshman girls smiled and went on ahead. Mercedes placed her trombone in the case and grabbed her water bottle.

"Oh to be a first year marcher …" the junior mumbled thinking of the girls.

"Shouldn't you be at lunch?" Mr. Chris Russel, the handsome assistant director (who couldn't be more than 25) asked.

"Probably. I'm headed that way." Mercedes smiled as she stood. "Care to join me?" She cocked her head to the side. Mr. Russel chuckled and followed. The pair walked in silence as they scuffed their feet in the dirt.

"So … What did you do to your arm?" Mercedes asked, nothing the rather large square band-aid exposing its self just past the sleeve of his short sleeved t-shirt.

"Nothing." He smirked.

"Come on, Mr. Russel. How embarrassing can it be?" He didn't respond. "Come on, you can tell me. I'm the girl who ended up doing a somersault on the 50 yard line last year due to a trombone – piccolo collision, remember?" She laughed, as did he.

"Alright. Fine. It's not an injury…" He trailed off.

"Oh?" She questioned.

"Yeah…" He trailed off again as he stopped to roll his sleeve up and pull the bandage away. Mercedes' eyes widened.

"You didn't!" She squealed.

"I did." He smiled triumphantly as he showed off his new tattoo.

"Oh my god …. Did it hurt?" She asked clenching her teeth as she moved a little closer to examine it.

"Not so bad." He lied as she admired the tattoo.

"Can I?" She asked as she placed her index finger to his arm. He nodded with a smile, flexing slightly. She let her finger trace the lined of the picture, the PERMANT picture on his arm.

"It is lovely … and very you!" She chuckled, pulling away as he readjusted the band-aid.

"Thank you." He nodded before putting out his arm. "And now to lunch?"

Mercedes chuckled and linked her arm in his. "Of course Mr. Snare – And –Drumsticks- Tattoo." And the pair broke into laughter as they made their way to the dining hall.


	5. Cruise

This One is Dedicated to TTJ

_**This One is Dedicated to TTJ**_

_**We Love You, You'll Make It Through.**_

_MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- MB -:- _

**66. Cruise **

She stood leaning on the Dinner-Cruise line's white rails. The sky was pink and purple, grey streaks and clouds were scattered through the brush-stroke sky. Her eyes watched the slowly setting sun as the sea blew the smell of salt and sand into her hair that was pushed back into a long curly ponytail. Her polo's collar fidgeted in the wind.

She loved boats, and he had too, once. After all, if he hadn't, the band wouldn't have spent one evening every year together on the dinner cruise.

This year, the band spent their night on their annual cruise night. Cheesy dance music blared from the speakers of the dance floor inside, and many of the band's members danced or ate inside. However, she'd found herself outside, as usual; there she was watching the water turn into mini-rapids coming from the boat's stern.

Every year, for the past 3 years, she and Mr. Clark found themselves on the deck. Mr. Clark was an amazing band director, their band had been the top band in the state 3 times over 5 years, and he was an even more amazing person. Most people, though, didn't bother to get to know Mr. Clark. She had though. These nights on the boats were _their_ nights. Mr. Clark had become a second father over time, and every year, they would find themselves away from the rest of the band and would sit together on the deck. He would tell her stories of his youth, and she'd tell him everything on her mind. And they'd laugh as they sat on the flimsy chairs watching the water.

But this year, it was different. This year, she was alone. She stood on the deck, her eyes scanning the water, with her eyes in a mist. She couldn't believe he was gone. She couldn't believe she was alone. Quite honestly, she didn't have to be alone. There was a dance floor full of band mates who loved her.

But, tonight, she felt like sulking. So she cried …

"Leigh?" Mr. Howard came forward onto the deck from the door way. She pulled her head up from the rail, tear stains still imminent beneath her lids. She stood up tall though, shoulders back, elbows froze, chin up.

Mr. Howard stepped next to her, but didn't look at her; instead he let his eyes follow the same path as hers, tracing the nearly fully black horizon.

"It's getting late Leigh, if you're going to save time to dance, now's the time." He added light heartedly, a fake happiness drenching the words. Leigh stood completely silent. Mr. Howard cleared his throat, realizing she wasn't going to move from her post.

"I swear I can feel him." Leigh admitted.

"He loved the sea." Mr. Howard granted.

"He did." She looked down at her hands.

"And he loved you." Mr. Howard turned slightly towards her, leaning down awkwardly as to meet her eyes that she was trying to hard to advert.

"... I … no."

"Yes, he did." Mr. Howard enforced. He put a finger under her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. His were dark and hers were wet. "You were like the child he never had. He never meant for things to go this way. He wouldn't have ever hurt you on purpose."

"… I know." Leigh broke down into sobs. Her legs wobbled and she nearly fell to the deck before Mr. Howard grabbed her, and lowered her slowly to the deck. Tears erupted from her eyes and began to fall, her back wracked with every sob, and her lungs burned from a lack of oxygen.

Mr. Howard watched a moment before pulling her into his arms and holding her tight against his chest.

"You'll be okay, Leigh. Please… don't cry like this, you'll make yourself sick." Leigh tried, but there was no stopping it. For eight and a half months she pushed away any ill thoughts she had. Mr. Clark's absence had nearly killed her at first, but the only thing that hurt more after that was his replacement by Mr. Stevens. Had Mr. Howard, Mr. Clark's assistant, not been there, Leigh wouldn't have been here. The only thing harder than all of that, was _this_. Being here, at his favorite place; being taunted by the empty chairs they always sat in, being mocked by the seas mist and the cool breeze that whipped against her ears whispering "You're Alone".

Her tears finally subsided, as her chest hurt and her eyes were swollen beyond belief.

"He's really gone." She revealed. "He's never coming back." She admitted for the first time, here eyes widened as she pulled away from Mr. Howard a little.

"No, he's not. But, he'd be so proud of you, Leigh. He_ is_ proud of you." Mr. Howard choked out. Leigh rested her head against his chest once again as his arms went around her shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze.

"You'll be okay … we'll be okay." He whispered. Leigh took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut before pulling away and standing next to the rail for a split second once more.

"I miss you." She whispered up to the sky before Mr. Howard put his hand on the small of her back and guided her back to the dinner where the rest of the band was.

On their way in they heard the faintest sounds of a radio coming from the ships deck speakers …

"_Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face_

_You told me how proud you were, but I walked away_

_If only I knew, what I knew today_

_I would hold you in my arms; I would take the pain away _

_Thank you for all you've done, Forgive all your mistakes_

_There's nothing I wouldn't do to hear your voice again_

_Sometimes I want to call you, but I know you won't be there."_


	6. Happy

2

**2. Happy **

Half time; game time for the marching band. But this half time would be more.

Kaytee Cornell marched down the fifty yard line for the last time this season. Carrying her baritone and marching into place, she glanced through the stands. She searched for a face … a certain happy face she couldn't find it.

The Cavaliers began to march. Lines expanded, contracted, zigged, zagged, reversed … and when sliding towards the forty five, she saw him. For a brief second she nearly smiled, but focused back on the show.

The show ended eleven minutes after it began and Kaytee marched determinedly off the field. The show had been good, but that's now hwy Kaytee smiled.

She nodded towards 'congratulations' and 'nice jobs'. Kaytee handed off her silver bell-front to her section leader and walked and searched. Taking her hat off and letting it hang from the chin-strap in her hand she cocked her head from side to side – looking.

Ten minutes later, she began to worry. Maybe she was crazy … maybe she'd never seen him. Maybe, he'd been and gone. Maybe –

"You looked great out there." Kaytee heard behind her. She spun around with a wide grin. She squealed and leapt into the arms of Daniel Maxxom wearing a Navy uniform. He chuckled. "How's college?" The handsome 21 year old uniform clad Navy seal asked his 19 year old girlfriend wearing her marching uniform.

"Same old – same old." She shrugged, smiling. "You're home!" She squealed, her smile bright in her eyes.

"For a while, too!" He added, excitedly.

"I've missed you." She looked down at her feet.

"I've missed you too."

"I'm glad you're home."

"Me too."

"I've been miserable without you." She admitted.

"I've been – " He stopped. So far, he'd agreed. He agreed now too. Bu he hated thinking he'd made her miserable. Daniel loved her. He'd loved her for 2 years. He'd loved her his last 6 months away. He couldn't stand her unhappy.

"No." He said. She sent him a questioning look. "You can't ever be miserable. Not because of me. I could never hurt you." He stroked her chilled cheek with his rough, warm hand.

She couldn't promise to never be miserable, she simply loved him too much.

"I love you, and I'm happy now." She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. They smiled as they kissed.

For now anyway, kissing and holding their uniform-clad lovers, they were happy.

_I realize this is barely band related , but it (A) shows band kids have lives to (B) is kind of a shout out to some special people (C) was inspired by a dream I had not long ago. D Hope you liked it in it's half band-ness! - The Sexy Symphony Misses _


	7. Gloves

32

**32. Gloves **

Gloves … the finishing touch. The final piece. The over the top accessory.

White, Soft, Pressed.

The gloves, with their fancy stitching and no-slip grips, and decorated lines demanded attention. They provided a certain elegance and professionalism. Other times though … they could be used for more … fun purposes, perhaps…

It was the end of halftime and the Marsaille High School marching band had just finished their field show, Music of Westside Story. The band broke for 3rd Quarter break.

It was cold and windy and Charlie Rose didn't feel like standing in lines for concessions. Instead, she headed up to the stands early. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and huddled over her knees blowing warm air on her gloved hands.

After a moment she heard someone behind her and a hand carrying hot chocolate darted over her shoulder. Turning around she saw the band's director, Mr. Thomas. With his goofy grin he handed her the Styrofoam cup.

"Thanks." She smiled and removed her gloves to gain the warmth of the cup and get a better grip on the steamy drink. Scooting over to make room, Charlie asked MR. Thomas to join her.

"Of course!" He sat down happily, his 40-year-old knees cracking on his way down.

"Wow, Mr. Thomas. Ever here of this stuff called Join Juice? It looks like orange juice, but taste like crap…" She smiled coyly.

"Ha – Ha. Real funny, Char." He bumped her shoulder, receiving a "Heyyy!" from Charlie, who now had hot chocolate running over her knuckles, dripping on her pants.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah-Yeah…"

"Really." He began to chuckle at the shivering, irritated strawberry-blond before him.

"It's not funny!" She pouted playfully.

"It is a little bit." Mr. T joked. With a fake "Hmph!" Charlie turned to stalk away.

"Hey! Ice-y!" Mr. T called his freezing student back. Charlie turned. "You forgot your gloves!" He picked them up from the stand where she'd left them.

Charlie walked back to Mr. Thomas; taking her gloves back she theatrically slapped him across the face with them.

Charlie laughed and seconds later so did Mr. Thomas, after letting go of his mock-hurt expression. Charlie turned away, only to be chased by Mr. Thomas.

Who would have thought gloves could lead to such insanity?


	8. Storms

9

9. Storm

Storm  
Finally the last day of school had come. Now normally, this meant no more time spent within the walls of school for three months. This, unfortunately, was not the case for a group of dedicated band kids.  
It had been months since the loss of our director and the school was finally ready to find a replacement. In order to prepare the new leader, we were instructed to organize, file, and store all of the sheet music.  
"Hey guys, what CD is next?"  
"Buble!"  
Karleigh puts in the black disc and sits down to continue sorting the annoyingly large stack of clarinet parts.  
_The more I see you,  
The more I want you._  
_Somehow this feeling  
Just grows and grows.  
With every sigh I become more mad about you,  
More lost without you,  
And so it goes.  
Can you imagine  
How much I -  
_"Guys, was that a trash can that just flew by the window?!"  
"I believe so …!"  
"AND now the powers out. Great."  
"Party in the baaaand room!"

While everyone else runs around the large empty band room, Karleigh decides to go into the storage room and hide from the storm. Ever since she was five, storms terrified her. After she got herself settled in one of the tuba cubbies, she rested her head on her knees and started singing the rest of the Buble song.  
_How much I'll love you.  
The more I see you.  
As years go by?  
I know the only one for me can only be you.  
My arms won't free you.  
My heart won't try.  
_"Wow, are you sure you're in band?" a tall dark figure said from behind her.  
"Oh, um, thanks? I was just trying to distract myself from the thunder…" She said as she was turning around to face the familiar face.  
"Well the weather channel said we're on Tornado warning for the next hour, so you might want to remember more songs to sing." he said with a smile.  
"Wonderful. Thanks for telling me."  
"No problem." he replied as he sat down on the floor next to her.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Keeping you company … I don't want you in here alone and crying for the next hour." He then took out his iPod, looked for a few seconds, and offered one of the ear buds. "I want you to hear something. I was thinking about performing this at the Fall concert next year."  
"Cool! What's the title?"  
"March of the Belgian Pear Troopers. It has a bass clarinet feature in it."  
"Sounds very, happy. I can't wait to play this!"


	9. Candles

_**3. Candle **__(Warning – Director/Student flirting. If you don't like it, don't read.) _

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Nobody could have guessed what a huge difference a little candle could make.

It was nearing the end of practice on a Friday night before a game, and it was raining cats and dogs. It'd been that way all afternoon. Practice had to be moved inside because of the dark and the bitter wind. Not to mention the rain would have drowned the woodwinds and destroyed their pads. Oh the joys of having pads on your instrument…

**x THUNDER x LIGHTENING x**

"Okay guys, that's all for today. I'm letting you all out a little early due to the weather. Be safe guys. Drive carefully." Mr. Brant, the Marching director, notified his students at 5:45. The students quickly rushed to their cases and threw their instruments in before Mr. Brant could change his mind.

Delilah was different though. She felt no need to go out in what was probably the worst of the storm thus far. So, instead, she slowly placed her shiny flute inside of her case while everyone else bolted out of the room.

With another crack of thunder Mr. Bowing, the music director, announced that he too was leaving before things could get darker and wetter out. Delilah nodded to him and continued to busy herself with organizing chairs and stands.

"What're you doing hanging around here Delilah?" Mr. Brant asked as he helped move some of the stands into their place.

"Waiting out the storm..."

"Yeah, it's getting pretty crazy out there." Brant said pulling his fingers through his dark-chocolate brown hair. "That's why I let you guys out early."

"Yeah, well I'm just gonna wait here a little while if you don't mind. My rain-driving isn't so hot." She admitted, half in jest.

"That's fine. I'd have been here anyway. I want to re-write one of our sets."

"Ah, I see." Delilah smiled as she placed a last chair.

"Nice work." He admired the tidy room, that wouldn't stay that way for long. "I'm going to go in the office and write the drill if you don't mind."

"Of course. Don't let me keep you." Delilah said picking up her music folder with a slight grin. The lightening struck again and she cringed before placing her folder in her backpack. Looking outside, she decided she had some time to kill and continued to organize her belongings further. A few minutes later, with Mr. Brant in front of the computer, Delilah picked up her flute and headed to the storage room. A few steps outside the storage room doors the lights flickered. Delilah looked up at the lights and cringed before hearing Mr. Brand curse the computer for shorting out with a power glitch. Delilah continued into the band locker room. Delilah was placing her flute in the cubby when..

**X THUNDER x LIGHTENING x**

.. the lights flickered and went out. Delilah let out a short yelp before hearing Mr. Brant crash to the floor out of his rolling chair and shouting "Delilah?" She froze a moment before responding "yes?"

"You alright in there? Where are you?"

"In the band locker room."

"Can you find your way back into the room?" He asked, his voice slightly closer. She guessed he was in the middle of the band room now.

"I think so." She mumbled as she felt her way to the door.

"There you are." He smiled. Or at least that's what she thought he was doing, his features slightly hazy in the dark.

"Uhhu…" She stuttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just hate storms."

"Aw. It'll be okay." Mr. Brant assured her by putting his hands on her shoulders and running them up and down her arms. "But for now, we need light…" He muttered. After a moment of thought, "There are candles in the storage room. You gonna be okay while I go find them?" Delilah nodded.

Mr. Brant made his way to find the candles and moments later returned out of the storage room with a white candle with a little flame.

"Here we go." He handed her a similar candle. Delilah took it and lit it with the flame from his candle. She looked up from the little flame and thanked god the dark hid her blush as she noticed how his deep brown eyes sparkled in spite of the dark.

"Now, let's just, wait this out." He noted. Delilah agreed and the pair sat themselves down in the middle of the band room.

"So, what are you changing in the drill?" She asked, trying to distract herself.

"I'm changing the follow the leader, it isn't clean enough. I think I'm going to change it to a rotating box instead."

Delilah groaned and giggled, "Another one? You must really like your boxes." She smiled.

"That I do." He chuckled himself. Delilah noted, silently, how the flame's light danced across his face. It amazed her how such a single little flame could illuminate his features.

"Delilah?"

"Huh?" She snapped out of it, blowing a stray red-brown hair out of her face.

"You seemed distracted."

"Oh." She blushed. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He accepted as he allowed his eyes to run over her features, as they glowed by the flame.

A second later lightening lit up the entire room, causing Delilah to jump and end up in the middle of Mr. Brant's lap. The 27 year old Marching director laughed as he wrapped his arms around the 1st chair flute player. "It's only a storm dear."

"Huh?" She second-guessed her hearing.

"It's only a storm … Delilah" he switched.

"Right." She dismounted herself and setting a good 2 feet between herself and Mr. Brant. "So .. when do you think the lights will come back on?" She questioned.

"Not a clue." Mr. Brant admitted. Thunder rumbled through the empty school. "But, until they do. Come back here." He patted a place next to him. She scooted closer and he put and arm around her. "Now, you say this to anyone else and I'll deny it, but … the candle light really does make you look fabulous." He admitted.

Delilah blushed for the millionth time. "Well, you don't look so bad yourself, mister." She snuggled her nose into his warm muscular shoulder. "I've always wanted this, you know." She whispered.

Mr. Brant sighed. "This isn't happening." He corrected, protecting her. "But, by the candle light, I'll make an exception."


	10. Eagles

37

**37. Eagles **

It was the annual Marching Band Trip. It was also the last competition. The orange and brown leaves blew through the wind as a bitter cold threatened to set in as the sun was beginning to sink along the horizon.

The Eagles stood in arcs around the drum major outside of the Iron Gate that guarded the field. The band stood at parade rest, chins tucked in, instruments laid uniformly at their feet, gloved hands clasped behind their back.

The drum major's eyes fell quickly skimming across the band. After a moment and a deliberate breath "Band, Atten-Hut!"

"Eagles!" They snapped.

The drum major nearly sniffled a moment, taken aback by how perfect the band looked. Every single member standing tall, stiff, and proud.

"Alright, relax." The major called. "This is our last competition this year. This means this is our last chance to get this right. This is our last chance to excel. This is our last chance to blow the audience away."

"We want a baby-throwing moment?" One trombone player questioned. The band giggled quietly and quickly settled down.

"Yes," the drum major stifled a laugh. "Exactly."

After a moment.

"This is the last time we will ever perform this show. And seniors, this is the last time you'll ever bear this uniform. For some of you seniors, this will be the last time you will ever march on a field. But for others, this is only a beginning. Seniors, I wish you all the luck in the world as many of you move forward in your lives to pursue music careers. And I wish luck to those of you who will continue to march, and for those who do continue to march, I'm sure you feel more pain than even the others.

Underclassmen; your job today is to make this the best show you can for the seniors. This is your task.

Underclassmen, seniors will tell you today more than they would on any other day the truth. Take pride in your band. Take pride in our uniform. Take pride in yourselves. The seniors will never march as an Eagle again after today. You will. Carry on the name as they left it.

Seniors, this has been a wonderful four years. Underclassmen, we'll be sad to leave you. We love this band. I love this band, as I love all of you. As I love the grass on the field. As all of you love all your instruments in your own way.

Eagles, enjoy today. Today is our day. This is our competition, and for the next seven and a half minutes, we own the field. Own it Eagles. You were given wings to fly. Use them today. Use them to soar above the competition.

As we enter that field today, I want you all to give that extra encouragement to your pair as we march-in in twos. I want you all to feel the pride of the Eagle way pouring through your veins. Soar today Eagles, all of you. It's your time to fly."


	11. 5 am

67

**67. Five a.m. **

"Seniors, to the buses." Mr. Carter announced at 5:01am. The seniors all fled to the buses to claim the 'best' seats … considering the seats would be their home for the next 5 hours as they traveled to their beach competition.

"Juniors." He called next as the sophomores and freshman groaned. Harper Lee grinned and headed out to the bus. A minute after the sophomore had been called and Harper had her left foot on the bottom step of the bus she growled. "Damn. Hat box." She muttered and turned around on her heel to go back inside to retrieve her hat. She quickly walked back into the band room and scanned the room for the box. Honing in on the corner with an "ah-ha", she grabbed the box and walked out to the bus behind the freshman and co-director, Mr. Swift. Climbing the bus steps she didn't look around until it hit her a second later, there were not seats left. Not even her usual one in the back corner. The only empty seat was next to Mr. Swift. She could have gone to the other bus, but knew her only chance there was next to Mr. Carter, or the fanatical guard instructor.

"It's okay. You can sit down here." Mr. James Swift said, making Harper snap out of it a little.

"Oh. Uh. Thanks." She nodded and sat down. She and Mr. Swift had an interesting relationship. He'd started teaching marching band the same year she'd joined at the high school. He'd been her "go-to-man" for two years and counting. They could talk anything from DCI, to music, to t.v., to high school gossip. They were comfortable with each other, but somehow in front of other people it was forced. Like they didn't want anyone to see that they would have been good friends, had there not been a seven year age difference.

Harper sat down and smiled. The bus started to pull forward and the lights went out making the bus dark. This made things less awkward. Mr. Swift scooted down in bus bench and put two ear buds in and illuminated the bus bench with his iPod's screen.

Harper sat still, unsure of where to place her eyes. She settled on his iPod screen. She watched him scroll through his playlist. He settled on old DCI recordings. She looked up from his playlist and looked right at Harper. She let her eyes fall, blushing, she'd been caught. He let out a quiet laugh. "Here." He handed her one of he white ear buds. She grinned taking it from his fingers and scooted down in the seat as he did. Placing the bud in her ear her head was filled with a steady horn crescendo and drum break. Mr. James Swift and Harper Lee looked at each other a moment and both let their eyes fall closed.

Harpers blue-green eyes opened about 30 minutes later, apparently she'd dosed off. After all, she had woken up at 4:15 so the band could leave promptly at 5:00am. She pulled her head back up from its slouching position and realized just where her head had fallen. On Mr. Swift's shoulder. The ear bud that had been in her left ear, now lay where her head had been. His eyes were closed and his breath deep and heavy. He'd fallen asleep too. She grinned, pushing a dark brown hair back behind her ear. The bus was still dark with the sun still not over the horizon at 5:49am. Harper, slightly embarrassed from picking up her head off of her director's shoulder took a deep breath and smelled the remnants of the cologne still hanging around her nose from Mr. Swifts collar. She smiled, and then yawned; barely able to keep her eyes open.

"Come back to sleep if you want." Mr. Swift awoke and whispered. Harper shook her head, "Sorry. I know I shouldn't have." She blushed.

He turned his head to lock his brown eyes with hers, "You're fine. I enjoy your company." He smiled.

"Okay." She grinned and whispered. She scooted down and placed her head back on his shoulder and he found another recording for them as they both fell back asleep, happily.

Five in the morning is just way too early for anyone to care about what happens on a bus.


	12. Keys

_Sorry we've been gone so long! Here are a piece you may enjoy. _(:

**20. Keys **

"David, what on earth are you doing?" Kris unhooked her neck-strap from her alto and set it on her chair and walked over to David who was rustling through a stack of sheet music, destroying any order it could have been in before. "I can't find the snare part." He said, continuing to attack the stack of copies.

"Did you have it to begin with?" Kris asked, systematically.

"No. Otherwise I would have it right now." David rolled his eyes.  
"Well, then it's not in there," Kris pointed out. "It must be in the storage room. I'll go get you a copy."

The rest of the band continued to play as David walked back to his station and Kris walked over to the storage room. The room was like her baby. She and a group of friends had taken everything out and cleaned it and reorganized it the summer before, and ever since, she'd been very cautious about who and what goes in there. She went to pull open the door but quickly found it was locked. Slightly irritated, but also half expecting it to be locked, she sighed and walked back to the center of the room where Mr. Hax was conducting.

Kris stepped up on the platform behind him. "Mr. Hax…" she tapped him on shoulder. He leaned his head back while still conducting.

"Keys?" she asked. Slightly disoriented continued to lead the band while thinking about where he last put them. Kris glanced around the room and settled her sights on the lanyard the keys were connected to. "Found them!" she pointed out and promptly slid her hand partway into his front pocket and took them out.

Mr. Hax didn't flinch and Kris took the keys and jumped down from the plat form and sorted through the keys finding just the one and walked over to door.

"Find it yet?" David hollered.

"Working on it!" She yelled back, over the band.

She slid the key into the lock before giggling to herself. "Oh the things I'll do for the band kids."


	13. Haunted House

_Just a little joke about something that almost happened to a friend and I in Florida at a competition this past month. _

**Haunted House **

It started out as a fun day. Really did. How did it end up like this? With Crystal and Amber stuck at a 45 degree angle, leaning backwards in a dark, dusty, breezy hall in which a high pitched voice kept echoing in their ears with just whisper. "Hurry back…Hurry Back."

About 40 minutes prior Crystal, Amber, Nikki, and Jackie were running around Disney's Magic Kingdom. The band had just performed and now they had the afternoon to do as the pleased. Crystal never liked rides to begin with, but allowed herself to be talked into a few smaller rides. However, she never dreamed she'd end up here.

"I hate the dark, I hate the dark, I hate the dark…" Crystal repeated. Amber shushed her. "Will you be quite? There's got to be a way out."

"Oh yeah, and how do you suppose we do that?" Crystal bit back.

"I don't know. But we can't stay here for ever!" Amber pointed out, as someone let out an ear shattering scream. "I knew this was a bad idea!" Crystal complained to Amber who was rolling her eyes. "How was I supposed to know this thing would get stuck?" She motioned to the rod that was holding them back. "Amber, I hate haunted houses and at the moment I hate you."

"You don't hate me as much as is going to hate us for being late to awards!" Amber pointed out. "I say we ditch. This thing is never starting up."

"Fine." Crystal agreed. The pair wiggled their way out of the cart and walked out of Disney's Haunted Mansion.

"Hurry Back." A friendly ghost reminded the girls before they let out a unison, "Shut up!" and ran to the stage for awards.


	14. Mouthpiece

_Hey Guys, sorry for slow updates. Here's something silly to tide you over until some bigger posts. There is actually a little truth to this story. Haha! 3 KM & KC_

**72. Mouthpiece **

Abby Allston walked into the white hallways of Tulson High with a box of Kleenex in one hand and a bottle of cold-meds in the other.

"Whoa! Abs, you look like you've been hit by a truck!" Tony the trombone player noted as she made her way past the band room heading to the upstairs classrooms.

"Thanks Tony. Your face looks like it's been in the garbage disposal." Abby said, blowing her nose after.

"Oh, burn. You're even more evil than usual. What's with you?"

"I have a cold, genius." She said as she chucked her tissue in the nearest trashcan.

"Aw, that sucks." Tony said as he was speed walking beside her. After running up the steps beside her he stopped mid-step. "Wait a minute," Tony thought, "Your next class is P.E. which, though you're in no condition to participate in, is downstairs. Which means….Where are we going?"

"Nothing gets by you does it, Tony." Abby joked hoarsely.

"Seriously, where are we going?" Tony asked as Abby turned into Mr. Gibbs' (who was the young chemistry teacher by day, and a marching tech by afternoon) class.

"!" Abby coughed.

"Whoa! Abby, you look terrible." Mr. Gibbs noted as he sat down in his swivel desk chair.

"Thaaaanks!" Abby said sarcastically as she pushed her brown hair out of her puffy green eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Mr. Gibbs, who had taught her to march three years ago and was currently teaching her to play trumpet, asked with concern.

"I'm sick." She sneezed.

"Oh…" Gibbs thought a moment.

"Coughing, sneezing, puffy eyes, headache …" Abby went on to specify.

"Ha, sounds like what you had, Mr. Gibbs." Tony noted from behind Abby.

"Oh … well …"

"Yes, it does!" Abby noted, coughed, then sneered.

"Whoa!" Tony said putting his hands in the air, not wanting to know how she got Gibbs' cold.

"It's not what you think, Tony!" Gibbs defended.

"No. Not at all … It has to do with a mouthpiece." Abby sneered again, causing Mr. Gibbs to laugh.

"It was my mouthpiece." Gibbs tried to explain.

"Well you gave it to me!" Abby defended.

"Oh…" Tony nodded, then walked out just as confused as before.

Gibbs broke out into full laughter. "Sorry for getting you sick Abby." She smiled. "It's okay. Luckily, the idea of swapping spit with you doesn't bother me so much."

"Though a mouthpiece of course." Gibbs specified with a wink. Abby sneezed, then laughed as well. "Of course." She coughed.

The bell rang.

"Better go. See ya later for my lesson, Mr. Gibbs." Abby left with half the number of tissues she walked in with. Gibbs waved, letting Abby walk away talking to herself. "Cold? Totally worth it!" She mumbled as she thought of the hot- marching-tech.


End file.
